


The Lady and The Under-butler

by Summer_Forest



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summer_Forest/pseuds/Summer_Forest
Summary: 'This drive of unmasking unknown was Thomas' undoing. Slowly, hazily he leant in and descended his lips on the tender rosebud in a feather-like kiss.'
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Mary Crawley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. The Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, 
> 
> This work of fiction was influenced by an idea of the potential romance between Thomas and Lady Mary. The juxtaposition of their characters and their turmoil paths has led me to believe that there was some hope for happiness for them at the end. Which certainly they did have (spoiler alert for those who haven't seen the film!) - only if temporarily. 
> 
> Nonetheless, enjoy and do comment if you deem it fit.

The sight of the crouched man with his livery torn apart and a bottle of whiskey nestled around his chest stirred something in Mary, which she later would be referring to as something akin to sympathy. However, much she, sadly, knew about this feeling, she could not fully share his sufferings for they were personal, deep wounds carved along a narrow, twisting tree branches. As well as prying into other people's lives wasn't in Mary's nature. It was more her sister's - Edith - daily occupation.

Although Mary has once confided in her maid, which led them to become dear friends, but only for the circumstances provided for it to be so. Whereas now, here laid a man whom Mary knew to be a troubled soul, and that was all. Unless, she wished to exercise the same kind of manoeuvre on Barrow as she did on Anna, she should have been aware of the limitations of that approach. Alas, she was not.

As the wind finished its melancholic song and started blowing more softly outside, Mary finally decided to make her presence known with her heels echoing on the parquet floor.

“Oh, mmm- Lady Mary....-” 

Mary took the opportunity of Thomas’ disoriented state and proceeded further into the room to sit beside the under butler. His cheeks were burning; marred by a stream of tears and wine.

“Forgive me- ... I was alone and I couldn’t-...with His Lordship being in the hospital...’’

Mary painfully acknowledged his words and bit her lips in preparation for what she was about to say. 

“I used to be a closeted person. I’ve always taken shelter in the privacy of my own chamber, and never once considered to find solace in a person, until…,” Mary whispered in a velvety tone, then paused and glanced down at her gloves, “...I met my husband.” 

The minute of silence stretched upon the two: while Mary was removing slowly her gloves, Thomas, in his brazen state, took the liberty of fixing his eyes on His Lordship’s eldest daughter: from her raven hair and porcelain skin to her admirable witts, and reserved demeanour - they were almost perfect for each other alike sinister companions in crime, and maybe, in life. If Thomas, of course, was made of a different mould. That, which would her haughty looks entice and illuminate his whole world of utter darkness. That, which would recite chivalrous poems to her under the balcony during the moon rise. While Her Ladyship would be softly sighing with her delicate palm over her rosily tinted cheek, he would be professing his undying devotion with his own cheeks and hands smudged with black ink - the colour of his life. This would all end in pure bliss if he was made of that mould. That, which would never let a tear wring from her eyes. The eyes of absolute tremor and passion, if one could ever behold such mixture at once and never be cured again. 

What more do poets need, if not the cupid bow’s kiss? What would his life be like, if he was made of that wretched dreamy, rightful mould? - He would own the world, it seemed. Bemusedly, those thoughts of the rightfulness of mankind and society only crossed his mind when he was in deep sadness, or caught in imminent danger of his apparent ambiguity of nature. He wished nothing more but be absorbed in things that would satisfy his inner reflection, however, his outer reflection could never be reckoned, nor reconciled with. He was made of different mould, indeed, though the way Her Ladyship’s necklace adorned its mistress’s petite pale neck, and how her fingers would touch it occasionally when she was confronted with the images of the past - left the man to ponder if his such imperfect armour of many years had a crack all along. 

“Barrow, I believe that I know what sadness is and you should not carry that burden on your own. After all these years, you are a part of the family.” Mary said and took the bottle from his hands, “And family takes care of its members. No matter what, how and when.” 

Thomas sighed and awoke from his reverie, “I am a horrible person, Lady Mary. No one ever stayed with me... - I am drenched with poison...but His Lordship is a good man- why he has to suffer?! Why do good people have to suffferrr?” 

The silence hung upon again as the pair drowned in the sea of solemn thoughts. 

Mary was the one to break it by boldly gulping down three long sips of whiskey and immediately grimaced from the bitter spirit putting her throat on flames. Thomas re-focused his eyes on her; at first baffled, then outright befuddled. 

“Methought high born ladies aren’t s'posed to drink like that.’’ 

“I thought under butlers aren’t supposed to talk about such ladies,’’ Mary challenged Thomas with her stern face but her eyes were sparkling with the long-forgotten gleam; the one she buried with Matthew, “At all.’’ 

“The family knows about all secrets, shouldn’t it so?’’ Thomas retorted more sombre and slightly adjusted his position into half-sitting; his left hand lightly brushing against Mary’s. “To tell the truth, I never dreamt of talking to one, either. Until tonight.’’

Mary shook her head and glanced at the dimly lit bookshelves, the coffee table and the images were supplied to her mind in a second. It was the room where she and Matthew danced for the first time. Regretful and nostalgic she remained unmoving. Her primary intention was to offer solace to Thomas and not get swarmed under the waves of her own tragic memories. 

At last, she responded, gently guiding her hand to lay upon Thomas’s, as the man shivered from her touch. “You are a good man Barrow, too, and your heart will find a refuge in someone kind and loving one day. After that, all that was and that is yet to come will cease to matter, for your soul will yearn for this person’s love to wash away the pain. And it will do. Wait for them until then.’’ 

“How do I recognise them as my person?’’ 

Thomas wondered if the scarlet organ of his would change his nature’s rigid beliefs since its thudding could not be blamed on the alcohol intoxication. No, no, no - it was all this minute of temptation. This drive of unmasking unknown was Thomas’ undoing. Slowly, hazily he leant in and descended his lips on the tender rosebud in a feather-like kiss.

Mary was stiled. Thomas closed his eyes.

In the adjacent corridor echoed light footsteps to which Thomas was oblivious as his hand found its way into Mary’s hair. His mind resembled the foggy window glass which offered no eternal escape for his soul, only temporary joy of the moment. 

He was paralysed, transfixed and puzzled. To the butler’s astonishment, the fruit of that dreamy love - that the likes of Shelley and Wordsworth wrote about - was as fascinating as his innate one. He felt the way his heart was on the verge of storming through his stony chest and finally taking a leap. Prompted by lady Mary’s pliant confusion mixed with a dose of whiskey, Thomas kept on falling deep. Right into the abyss. With each kiss he surrounded himself to what felt like bliss. Not a face flickered in his mind. Not a memory of what used to be lingered on it. Only Mary. And her small hands pulling at his livery vest.

***

From his wondrous state Thomas was pulled back abruptly by the screeching sound of the main door.

"Milady, are you in there?"


	2. Confusion and Shame

"Milady? Are you in there? I heard voices."

Mary's heart was beating staccato free against her ribcage. Anna's concerned voice was not a mere echo in the distance. Her maid was about to enter the drawing-room any second.

How could she let that happen? How could she allow a moment of weakness to overcome her? And… with Thomas. Poor soul, she dragged him into this mess, unforgiving. Coaxed him with her sympathetic charms and practically led him astray.

No. Her resolution was simple. She wouldn't be the cruel mistress anymore. She would be a cordial minister of her own judgements, who no matter what, deemed what was right for everyone.

"Mr Barrow, let me go." Mary spoke softly, her lips still throbbing gently from the kiss.

"I can't," Thomas murmured back, his hands moving back to cup her face again, "I found my solace." His feverish breath tickling Mary’s rosy cheeks, making her protests die prematurely.

"I've at stake my reputation but not my dignity, my lady. It's intact. Much like my soul."

Mary's heart skipped a beat at what sounded akin a war declaration to her ears. "No, no, _you_ don't understand-"

And then the waves crawled back on the shore, pulling Lord Grantham's daughter away to the sea.

***

He was reckless.

Unabashedly drunk. Stupidly reckless. Broken. And delusional.

But something inside kept telling Thomas that he should be unapologetic.

Unapologetic for the way Anna found him stealing breaths from her mistress.

Unapologetic for his lousy behaviour and the general rotten state of his mind.

Unapologetic for being utterly lost and found during the span of one night.

Unapologetic for his past mistakes and choices, which still could mar his name with the word 'villain'. And _different_. Queer.

Unapologetic for his newfound feelings of ease and lightness.

Unapologetic for admitting he wished nothing more but to be born into a loving family…

Unapologetic for being Thomas Barrow, the under butler of the Lord and Lady Grantham and their children.

And finally, unapologetic for mending himself slowly. Piece by piece. Day in day out. For being l’autre chose.

***

Mary kept a steady pace, while Anna was on her lady's heels. Silent. Not probing but making clear her stance in the matter. Which was surprising for Mary, considering what the two of them have been through together.

***

"Now, that we are alone. Come on, do your worst. I shall not refuse any of your claims." Mary said, taking a seat in front of her vanity; her eyes staring at Anna through the mirror. Daring.

"Milady, I have seen the worst, and that, at present, Mr Barrow needs a lot of support. Although it shan’t necessarily come from you.’’

Mary cast down her eyes, a shadow of a smile appearing on her lips.

“Besides, my lady, he is a wavering soul and they do tend to be enchanted with pure spirits. Not to mention, it is highly inappropriate, and that he sabotaged himself for such unseemly behaviour from a servant.”

At that Mary brought to a halt Anna’s brushing, gently gripping her friend’s arm. “I beg to differ. After a trail of misfortunes befalling me in the past twelve years, it is safe to conclude, I am no such thing.”

“As you say my lady, but if I may-...’’

Mary turned around to take both of Anna’s hands in her own, “No, you may not dear, for I know exactly what needs to be done for Barrow to regain his strength again.’’

Anna felt that she wished not to be let on this particular endeavour. She cared deeply for her beloved mistress, but her subconscious was certain of futile results in regards to anything to do with the under butler. Even though he was a changed man. Or, at least, appeared to be so.

“Milady, why won’t you tell me about it tomorrow when I bring you your favourite croûtons avec marmalade for breakfast?” Anna said, squeezing lightly back her lady’s hands and turning Mary around once again to finish her evening toilette.

“Anna, pray tell me, why do you avoid the conversation? Do you think I'm foolish?” Mary denounced, shaking off Anna’s brush. “I want to know your true feelings. As your friend, I deserve it.”

After a moment of masked contemplation, Anna only could muster a retreating speech, “I dare say you should let your hair down more. It grew past your shoulders. This way you look cunningly similar to a forest nymph that lures all good men to their doom.”

If not for a minute of scandalous expression on her lady’s face, Anna could swear she chanced a gleam of something sheepish in Mary’s eyes. Something that she could recognise after it’s been hidden for nearly a decade.

“Bravo, I do now think you see me as a foolish girl, provoking beasts to play along with my illusion of peace.” Mary laughed with irony before offering her friend a sad smile, “Anna, I will take it from here, thank you. You may go to bed.”

“My lady-”

Anna’s protests were cut down almost immediately, “I shall be fine.” Mary said, turning to the mirror once more, “I will try.” She whispered.

But as soon as the door closed, the portraits on the wall witnessed the future Lady Grantham sigh and bury her head in her hands.

***

“Only the moon and I. Deserted by them all but not the Mistress of the Night, who shelters all the wicked ones under her starry cloak,” Thomas spoke in a sing-song, sitting cross-legged on the bench in front of the mansion, overlooking the mighty hill.

T’was the perfect spot to drown one’s sorrow. Nature was abundant in its comfort: a silver disc projecting its pearly moonlight on the bushy trees behind him, forest nightingale singing its melodious songs and the wind caressing his tousled hair.

It would continue for a long long time until a silhouette of a man neared close.

“I see you happen to be here. Thomas.”

“Mr Bates. You did away with formalities.”

“After what you’ve done today, formalities have no relation to your character.”

Thomas kept on looking into the vast wilderness, blowing puffs of smoke apathetically, “I see that you couldn’t keep your nose out of affairs that do not concern you. Leave me be, Mr Bates.”

“You’d be surprised at how much I am restraining myself from putting my fist to a good use right now.” Bates said and took the cigarette out of Thomas’ mouth. “This will stop. Anna and the rest see that you are no longer the person you used to be, but I know exactly what’s hiding beneath that facade. You won’t fool me twice.”

“You are one delusional man, Mr Bates.” Thomas laughed bitterly and stood up, before yielding to his fate and sauntering off in the direction of the mansion.

“One delusional man!”

The taunt kept on coming until Thomas disappeared from the valet’s side of vision.

Mr Bates rolled his eyes and cursed the day he met that fellow, “Might be the two of us.”


End file.
